


The Life We've Waited For

by softywolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Daddy!Derek, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Pack Feels, Slow Burn, librarian!Stiles, tattooed!stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-01-24 15:51:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18574669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softywolf/pseuds/softywolf
Summary: The thing about Derek Hale was this: Stiles had pined over him so hard when he left that even Isaac, who was,wow, actually kind of a dick, had felt bad for him. Derek had never told Stiles goodbye. Well, he hadn’t told anyone really. But Stiles felt thatheat least deserved the courtesy of a text or a phone call with some variation of ‘Hey, I’m leaving town. For good’. Especially after the summer spent researching together; the two of them becoming what one could consider friends. No one from the pack had heard a single fucking word from him or Cora or even Peter in just over six years. And yet, when Stiles came clambering into Scott and Allison’s house, there he was.--------Or:When Derek Hale returns with his sister and two-year-old daughter in tow, he turns Stiles Stilinski's life on it's side - again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y'all! I haven't posted anything in a very long. Hell, I haven't been part of the Teen Wolf fandom in just as long. But Derek & Stiles (and the rest of our favourite Beacon Hills residents) still hold a special place in my heart. Because of that, I've decided to finish this fic that I've been sitting on for a few years now. It's almost done and I'm not entirely sure why I never finished it. I'll be posting a chapter a week until it's done. I hope y'all like it!

                    The first time Stiles got a tattoo, it was senior year, a week after his 18th birthday and the night after the pack had _almost fucking died_ fighting off an honest-to-god dragon. It was like Scott’s, except it wrapped around his wrist and had thinner bands. The black ink looked impossibly dark embedded into his pale skin. He liked that it made him feel even more connected to the pack. Maybe the tattoo was a way for Stiles to give himself some semblance of normality in the chaotic and supernatural-filled life he now led. 

                    When Scott became an alpha - a _true alpha_ , according to Deaton - a lot of things changed for him and everyone around him. Not only did he inherit three werewolves after Isaac left for a week and returned with Erica and Boyd in tow, but he also had three humans in his pathetic excuse for a pack. The Hales had disappeared almost immediately, leaving the newly dubbed (by Stiles and Erica) Beacon Hills Gang to fend for themselves. There were so many things they didn’t know about their new found wolfiness and it was pretty much touch and go after that.

                    It wasn’t until Deaton decided to share what Stiles liked to call his “infinite wisdom” of protection tattoos that Stiles had a _real_ reason for covering his body in different shades of ink. Deaton knew a witch named Wey who owned a tattoo shop just a town over with her wife Elaine. After he introduced them, the witches became a regular in Stiles’ life – just one more not-so-natural thing to add to the mix.

                    After his sixth tattoo, a small crescent moon just under his clavicle, the Sheriff sat him down at the kitchen table over plates of cheesy, garlic-y lasagna. Stiles’ cheeks were puffed out with a mouthful of food when he noticed his dad staring at him but that didn’t stop him from whining out a “What?”.

                    The sheriff laughed and shook his head, concentrating for a moment on scooping some lasagna up. “S’there anything you’d like to talk about?” He inquired before stuffing the bite into his mouth.

                    Chewing slowly, Stiles looked at his dad with squinted eyes and pursed lips. “I should have known you wanted something, bringing home pasta for dinner but I really don’t know what you mean,” he said, balancing his fork on the edge of his plate.

                    “It might have something to do with all of those tattoos you’ve been getting,” the Sheriff said. “I could be wrong though.”

                    “I am 20 years old,” Stiles said, studiously ignoring the implied question.

                    “I am aware of that, Stiles.”

                    “It’s my body,” Stiles tried.

                    “Of course it is,” the Sheriff agreed.

                    Stiles sighed loudly and looked down at his plate. “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask,” he grumbled.

                    “You were hoping I would just ignore the fact that my son has gotten not one, but _six_ tattoos in the last two and half years?” The Sheriff’s tone was incredulous.

                    “You were having a hard time with the whole ‘supernatural beings exist’ thing and I just didn’t want to add to it, y’know?” Stiles didn’t realize how it sounded until it had already left his mouth. He waved his hands, almost knocking his glass of water off of the table. “Not that I am a supernatural being. No, no, no. What I meant is…okay, look, these tattoos have protective spells woven into them by a witch who lives in Duncan Fields.”

                    “Witch?” His dad asked in a high-pitched voice.

                    “That – that right there is why I didn’t want to tell you,” Stiles complained before stabbing at a noodle.

                    That particular conversation went on through the night. Stiles spent hours explaining to his dad about all the other supernatural beings that he knew existed as well as the ins and outs of his tattoos. He told him that the tattoos weren’t symbols of protection, but were themselves for protection. Stiles was kind of surprised at how his dad rolled with it all.

                    When Stiles got his 15th tattoo, a triskele on the soft flesh of his wrist, it had been six years total since the Hales had deserted them. That night, he left the shop with Wey’s new tattoo apprentice, Finn. Finn was taller than Stiles, had a curly mop of dark hair, and bright green eyes. They’d been messing around for a few weeks and Stiles couldn’t help but smile whenever Finn’s lips wrapped around the head of his cock. It had been years since Stiles had any form of romantic attachment to another person. What he had with Finn was strictly physical and he really didn’t expect, or even want, anything more from it.

                    Thin lines of light peeked through the blinds when Stiles’ phone went off. The ringtone was for Scott, he realized through the haze of sleep. He groaned as he sat up, dislodging Finn’s arm from his waist. Scott’s smiling face looked back at him when he picked up his phone.

                     “Scott, I hope you’re calling me before lunch on a fucking Saturday for a damn good reason,” he said, voice still rough with sleep.

                    “Dude,” Scott cried, dragging out the word. Stiles pulled the phone away from his ear with a cringe until Scott’s voice returned to a normal pitch. “You’ll never guess who's back in town.”

                    When Finn woke, it was to Stiles rushing around his bedroom, gathering pieces of clothing from the floor. As he went, pulling his shirt over his head and tugging his pants up his legs, he muttered furiously under his breath.

                    “Everything alright?” Finn asked, pushing himself up on an elbow. His hair was askew, stuck to his forehead as he watched Stiles stuff his feet into his converse.  


                    “Yup. Everything is juuuust peachy,” Stiles finally stilled, although his hands were twitching at his side. “Something came up and my pack needs me,” he explained, visibly relaxing when Finn nodded in understanding.

                    As he left, Finn could hear him whisper _‘fucking Derek’_ darkly.

 

 

**\----------------------------**

 

 

                    The thing about Derek Hale was this: Stiles had pined over him so hard when he left that even Isaac, who was, _wow, actually kind of a dick_ , had felt bad for him. Derek never told Stiles goodbye. Well, he hadn’t told anyone really. But Stiles felt that _he_ at least deserved the courtesy of a text or a phone call with some variation of ‘Hey, I’m leaving town. For good’. Especially after the summer they spent researching together; the two of them becoming what one could consider friends. No one from the pack had heard a single fucking word from him or Cora or even Peter in just over six years.

                    And yet, when Stiles came clambering into Scott and Allison’s house, there he was. Tucked into the couch next to Cora. They were both so different and somehow exactly the same.

                    Stiles grinned when Cora rolled her eyes at his entrance.

                    That was when Erica and Boyd’s two and a half year old son came stumbling into the living room. Quillan’s brown curls stood up from his scalp and his mouth pulled into a gleeful smile. What really caught Stiles’ attention, because this was normal behavior for the toddler, was the little girl who came tumbling after him. She had short black hair, chubby cheeks and bright green eyes. Stiles had never seen her before.

                    It became obvious why when she clung to Derek’s leg and crowed out a “Da!” into the fabric of his jeans.

                    “Stiles! Hey dude,” Scott exclaimed when his eyes landed on Stiles’ frozen frame in the threshold. “This is Derek’s daughter, Liv. The three of them are moving back to town!”

                    “That’s uh,” Stiles paused, throat feeling thick and dry. He swallowed roughly as his eyes met Derek’s. He forced a smile. “That’s great. Really great.”

                    “We really appreciate your enthusiasm, Stilinski,” Cora deadpanned.

                    “I think Stiles is just surprised,” Allison’s voice rose as she entered the room with Erica trailing behind her. “We all are, really.” She was rubbing her rounded belly with the hand that wasn’t carrying a tray of her famous Butterscotch cookies. Stiles sent her a thankful smile, which she returned, and grabbed a cookie as she passed.

                    “That’s understandable,” Derek spoke for the first time since Stiles had arrived. His voice was still deep but softer than expected when you took his thick eyebrows and stubble-lined jaw into account. And then he turned his attention to his _fucking daughter, jesus christ._

                    Stiles listened to Cora telling the others what she had been up to while away with a vague sort of interest. He caught something about university and editing books, but he couldn’t stop gaping long enough to really pay attention. Liv looked so much like Derek it made his chest ache. He watched in awe as Derek’s hand smoothed over the top of Liv’s head, lips pulled up into a smile that Stiles had never seen on him before. As if he could feel Stiles’ wide eyes glued to him, Derek lifted his head. Their eyes met and suddenly that smile was for him. His heart gave a painful thump and he quickly averted his gaze.

                    “I just remembered I have somewhere to be. Like right now,” Stiles croaked.

                    “What?” Scott cried, pouting at his best friend. “You just got here! And you haven’t even showed us your new ink yet, dude.”

                    “Ink?” Cora asked, a look of interest on her face as she trained her eyes on Stiles.

                    “Yeah! Stiles has like twenty tattoos,” Scott started but Stiles interrupted with a weak correction. He only had fifteen. Scott ignored him. “Most of them have spells in them, done by this witch Deaton introduced us to,” he added excitedly, looking so much like a puppy that Stiles almost smiled. No matter how smart or grown up Scott was, he would always remind Stiles of an excited little puppy with perky ears and tongue lolling out of his mouth.

                    “Well, come on then. Let’s see ‘em,” Cora ordered as she sat up to look at him.

                    Stiles swallowed roughly around the lump that had formed in his throat. He tugged nervously on his sleeves, pulling them until they covered his fingers. Normally, he would have no problem with shucking his hoodie and t-shirt and showing them off. But today was different, and instead of thinking about why that was, Stiles was reluctantly ready to appease his best friend. He shot him a panicked look, attempting to have one of their infamous telepathic conversations, but Scott only smiled encouragingly.  

                    Clearly, he had forgotten about the Derek Situation that Stiles had.

                    Sucking in a deep breath, Stiles resolutely didn’t make eye contact with Derek as he began to remove his hoodie, his t-shirt following soon after. The air in the room was cool where it caressed his bare skin but he felt too hot as eight sets of eyes studied him. Stiles scratched nervously at the small tattoo below his clavicle and then ran his fingers through his hair.

                    “This is so awkward,” he grumbled. The rush of blood to his cheeks made him frown. He was 24 years old for Christ’s sake. He shouldn’t be blushing like this, especially not in front of his friends - the people he had known for so many years it was hard to remember exactly how many boundaries they had crossed.

                    “No, it isn’t! Where’s your new one?” Scott inquired, lifting Quillan into his lap when he waggled his tiny fingers expectantly at Scott. The little boy wiggled around until his nose was snug against Scott’s neck and promptly fell asleep.

                    Stiles extended his arm, palm up, to show the thick black spirals on the pale skin of his wrist.

                    “That looks awesome, Stiles!” Scott exclaimed, jostling the sleeping child in his lap who grumbled unhappily but remained asleep.

                    The rest of the group, excluding Derek, agreed with Scott and told Stiles so. Cora even complimented the coloured sleeve comprised of nine separate tattoos on his upper arm. When he looked to Derek to gauge his reaction, the intense and unreadable expression that he was giving Stiles was too much and the younger man had to look away.

                    “Thanks guys,” He managed to say, though his tongue felt thick and uncomfortable in his mouth. He pulled his shirt back on and only felt a smidge less vulnerable under the gaze of his friends. “I really do have to go now.”

                    Scott looked like he was about to protest some more, and if Stiles knew his best friend, which he did, it meant there would be pouting and puppy dog eyes that Stiles could never resist. As if on cue, Allison gently laid her hand on Scott’s shoulder.

                    “Do you want some cookies to take with you?” Allison asked him, squeezing Scott’s shoulder before releasing it. She gestured for Stiles to follow her into the kitchen and as they left, he could hear the rest of the pack jump back into conversation behind them.

                    “If Peter comes back too,” Allison started, but paused as she opened a cabinet and grabbed a Tupperware container and its lid. “I’m going to break my ring daggers out of retirement.”

                     “I don’t doubt that you’ll want to but you are pregnant and he is a werewolf,” Stiles told her with a laugh.

                    "I could still take him,” Allison said, defiantly. Seconds later, she burst into laughter and Stiles followed.

                     Just as she handed the container to Stiles, Liv walked slowly into the room, arms held up as if to keep her balanced. She stopped in front of Stiles and looked up at him with a smile that was more gum than teeth.

                    “Can you say ‘Stiles’, Liv?” Allison asked the little girl with a soft voice. “Stiles,” she repeated slowly pointing at him.

                    “How old is she?” Stiles asked, unable to take his eyes off of her. The ache in his chest was back as her green eyes danced with happiness. He resisted the temptation to reach out, grab her up and kiss her fat little cheeks.

                    “She’s almost two, I think,” Allison said.

                    She tried again to get Liv to say his name, gesturing at him and slowly repeating his name. Liv studied him for a moment before parting her lips and stuttering out a butchered version of his name. “Aw! Good job, Livvy!” Allison crooned happily.

                    Stiles watched with mild fascination as Allison gave her a cookie that she proceeded to put in her mouth and suck on as she watched them.

                    “If you keep giving her sweets, I’ll never get her to nap,” Derek’s voice shook with laughter from where he stood in the doorway. “And she is terrible to deal with if she hasn’t had a nap.”

                    Allison laughed and shook her head. “I find it hard to believe that this cutie is anything but an angel.”

                    “Maybe I’ll leave her here and let you find out for yourself,” Derek threatened as he swooped down and grabbed Liv up. The little girl squealed and nuzzled her nose against Derek’s cheek. Stiles had to look away when Derek returned the affection.

                    “We’d just pawn her off on Stiles. He’s a baby whisperer,” Allison admitted.

                    “One time, Alli. One time.” The three of them laughed together.

                    “That sounds like a story I need to hear,” Derek said.

                    “Maybe another time,” Allison told him. “Stiles has something _super important_ he needs to be doing.” She pointedly ignored his glare.

                    Stiles gave her a one armed hug before turning to leave. As he was crossing the threshold, Derek’s voice stopped him.

                    “It was nice seeing you, Stiles,” Derek said.

                    “Yeah,” Stiles replied without turning around.


	2. Chapter 2

                   At 9:30am on a Tuesday, Stiles started his shift at Beacon County Public Library. It was particularly chilly out and the library was cold as usual, albeit surprisingly quiet for a weekday.He rubbed his hands together in an attempt to generate some sort of warmth, thinking about the books he needed to return to their shelves that morning. Passing the front desk, Stiles waved at Anya who smiled and went back to checking in books from the overnight bin. There was already a cart full of books ready for him so he grabbed it and pushed it towards the row and row of shelves.

                    The silence was unnerving as Stiles worked his way from one aisle of books to the next. He couldn’t hear the click clack of keys as patrons used the computers or the chatter of the older woman who came in every other Tuesday for a new round of crappy romance novels. Maybe everyone was having a late start that day but he couldn’t help but wonder if it was normally so quiet and he’d just never noticed or if maybe his thoughts were particularly loud that day.

                    Honestly, he was leaning towards the latter.

                    It had been three days since he’d walked into his best friend’s house to see Derek Hale sitting on the couch. All he could think about was how much he wanted to see him again. He couldn’t figure out when he had stopped being bitter about Derek leaving - leaving him - and had just started accepting that Derek wasn’t going to be around. He was just kind of surprised that, after six years of growing into the person that he was with Derek absent, he didn’t hate the idea of the werewolf being back.

                    Stiles paused in reaching for another book, scratching absently at the dark lines on his wrist. The action reminded him of the new lines of ink on the opposite arm. As he looked at the triskele he’d just had imprinted into his skin, he thought maybe it wasn’t so surprising after all.

 

 

**\----------------------------**

 

 

                   It really shouldn’t have been as shocking as it was, when he pushed the cart around the last book shelf, to see Derek up front with Liv perched on his hip. Although he had pretended he wasn’t, all Stiles had been able to think about while working was the werewolf who was standing at the front desk looking at Anya with a terrified expression. Anya tended to have that effect on people. With her dark hair and painted red lips, the woman definitely had a talent for making people feel smaller than a mouse when she spoke to them.

                   “I thought we talked about scaring the patrons, Anya,” Stiles chastised as he came around behind the desk. He plopped down into the empty chair at the second computer and shook his head at her when she swiveled around to look at him.

                   “I’m not doing anything,” Anya argued, lips pulling up into a mischievous grin that told him that she was, in fact, doing something.

                   “Why do I not believe that?” Stiles asked with an unimpressed look.

                   When he turned back to Derek, his face was contorted with confusion, nose crinkled and eyes narrowed. He shifted Liv, who was babbling at a toy clutched in her hands, to his other side before stepping closer to the desk.

                   “You work here?” He asked, tone mildly incredulous. Stiles studiously ignored the way his shirt hung low around his collar and his hair was messy like he’d rolled out of bed without bothering to tame it. It was an amazing look on Derek, so amazing that Stiles’ heart stuttered a little, stomach filled with little winged creatures. Yeah, he definitely needed to look away.

                   “No,” he answered as he started to log onto the computer with his employee identification number. “They’ve been trying to get me to leave for weeks but I just really love shelving books.”

                   He actually managed to hold a serious expression on his face until Anya started laughing. His face split into a grin then, one that only grew when he saw that Derek’s features were still contorted in confusion.

                   “Yes, Derek. I work here,” Stiles told him with a laugh. “I have since senior year of high school.”

                   “Oh,” Derek said, suddenly looking like he felt completely out of place.

                   Stiles suddenly wondered if Derek was regretting his choice to leave or if he maybe wished that he had kept in touch with everyone that he left behind. He quickly pushed the thought away.

                   “Do you need help with something specific?” Stiles asked, eyes on the screen in front of him.

                   “I –uh…I figured since we’re back. _For good_.” The change in Derek’s tone compelled Stiles to meet his gaze. Derek looked like he was trying to convey something to Stiles, with nothing more than his eyes. Stiles didn’t want to think about what it could have possibly meant. “Since we’re back, I thought it would be a good idea to get a library card. We had one in New York and Liv really likes books about ducks.”

                   That startled a laugh right out of Stiles.

                   “I’m sorry. It’s just - Derek Hale’s daughter loves little ducks. That is so cute.” Stiles grinned when Derek’s lips tilted up into a smile. They stared at each other for a moment until Stiles cleared his throat, averting his gaze. “For the card, you just need to fill out a form,” he shuffled some papers around before he found what he needed, “and then Anya can set you up.”

                   Derek took the slip of paper from Stiles and promptly looked from Liv to the pen that Anya was handing him and back again.

                   “Want me to…?” Stiles trailed off, wiggling his fingers at the toddler. Derek didn’t get a chance to accept or decline the offer because Liv’s attention was suddenly on Stiles. She squirmed in her dad’s arms until he passed her over with a huff. Her chubby, slightly sticky fingers landed on Stiles’ cheek. He grinned at her when she said his name and started to babble again.

                   “Hi, Miss Liv,” he said turning away from Derek. He walked toward a door decorated with brightly coloured paper and a sign that said ‘Kid’s Room’.

                   Derek could hear him talking to Liv about a book he thought she’d like. She couldn’t understand a thing he was saying but when she let out a happy squeal, he knew that Stiles had done something right.

 

 

**\----------------------------**

 

 

                   While Anya was putting away the last cart of books, Stiles sat at the front desk and clicked around on the computer until the ‘New Patrons’ list popped up. Derek’s name was 3rd on the list and, after a moment of hesitation, Stiles opened his patron profile.

                   

 

                    _- **Name:** Derek Elijah Hale_

                    _- **Date of Birth:** 25 December 1984_

                    _- **Address:** 2531 Leichen Rd Beacon Hills CA _

                    _- **Phone Number:** 1-235-595-1735 _

 

                   He glanced around to make sure Anya wasn’t looking before pulling his phone out and creating a new contact.

 

 

**\----------------------------**

 

 

                   His apartment was a twenty minute drive from the library (and fifteen minutes from his Dad’s). It was in a building across from a strip mall that housed a bakery, 24-hour laundry mat, and small grocery store. His neighbors consisted of an old lady on his left, a lesbian couple with a four year old son to his right and the biggest douchebag he’d ever met straight across the hall. For such a small apartment, it was a pretty nice place. Stiles adored it. He had spent a whole weekend searching for the perfect couch, settling on one that was big and dark green. He’d also rounded up a few recliners and positioned them, with the couch, in front of the big screen television mounted on the wall. It had been a gift from his dad when he’d gotten a promotion at work that meant a raise and the ability to buy his son such fanciful gifts.

                   Stiles kicked his shoes off by the door and dropped his keys and wallet on the dining table. Ignoring the heavy weight of his phone in his pocket, he took a tupperware bowl of leftover chili out of the fridge along with grilled cheese fixings. It wasn’t long before he was relaxing on the couch, long legs spread out in front of him as he watched a shitty procedural cop show.

                   Three hours. He managed to pretend his phone wasn’t burning a hole in his pocket for three whole hours. With a groan, he tugged the device out and opened a new message.

                   

                   

                    _ **From Stiles (10:30pm):** Hey, this is Stiles. I may or may not have stolen your number from your file._

                    _ **From Derek (10:35pm):** I want to say that’s kind of creepy but oddly enough, I’m okay with it._

                    _ **From Derek (10:35pm):** Thanks for the book, btw. Liv has already made me read it to her three times._

                    _ **From Stiles (10:38pm):** No problem, dude! I can totally find more for her. _

                    _ **From Derek (10:40pm):** That would be great. Seriously. Can I get them tomorrow?_

                    _ **From Stiles (10:42pm):** My shift starts at 9:30_

                    _ **From Derek (10:43pm):** Don’t you think you should go to bed then?_

                    _ **From Stiles (10:46pm):** I am in bed. Thanks, dad._

                    _ **From Derek (10:48pm):** Oh_

                    _ **From Derek (10:49pm):** Goodnight, Stiles_

                    _ **From Stiles (10:50pm):** See you tomorrow, Derek._

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if I missed any tags or if I need to add trigger warnings of any kind. I know I need to add more character tags but I'll leave it as is for now. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Y'all can find me on tumblr at either [my fandom blog](http://www.theminorarcana.tumblr.com/) or [my book blog](http://www.wildhoneyandbooks.tumblr.com/).


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